Sentinels

by Matt Manochio

  Dammit.

  Noah crept to the open window to his left, stepping around Deputy Arnold’s body sprawled beneath it. Noah spied the staircase and figured one of the railroad men, based on the lack of an English accent and closeness of his voice, was downstairs with Lyle—and that the things were upstairs with Diggs and the other guy.

  “Find me a broom handle, something! And some rags,” Lyle continued.

  Be ready. Just be ready.

  Noah levered his rifle when slapdash sounds of jury rigging came from the kitchen.

  “Here, take the log,” Lyle shouted. “I’ll use this. Stick it to them good. Now, where are they?”

  “First room on the right, follow me.”

  Peter dashed through the sitting room and made it up the first two stairs before Noah fired and hit his side. Peter dropped the log, quick-drew and fired. Lyle, trailing Peter and holding a table-legged torch aflame with hand towels, fired his LeMat at the window. Noah returned two shots before ducking under the sill, and then angled the rifle into the house, firing blindly. Lyle pushed Peter up the stairs in retreat. Noah made sure the room was empty and swung his legs over the sill, gaining entry. He grabbed the smoldering log Peter had dropped on the staircase and tossed it outside, well away from the home.

  Noah aimed upstairs, preparing to climb, when he heard what sounded like a sharp crack of timber followed by shattered glass. A body crashed outside of the window where Brendan had drifted to sleep. Noah rushed to see Peter facedown on the ground—save for his head, which was twisted one-hundred-and-eighty degrees so that his eyes fried in the sun.

  Another body soon joined Peter’s. A scarecrow, its torso ablaze, landed on the dead man but sprang up and ran to the front of the house. What struck Noah as odd—beyond the fact that a mob of scarecrows had gained life and now wielded farm tools of righteousness—was that this one wore a black executioner’s hood and what appeared to be formal black church clothes, almost like a preacher’s. Noah followed its journey, which ended abruptly when it jumped into the water well. Noah heard no splash, only footsteps in the stairwell. He hid behind the sofa as Lyle, Diggs and the final railroad thug named Red thundered downstairs—so fast that Noah fired two bullets without the luxury of aiming, missing them—and out the front door.

  A gangly scarecrow wearing a black Stetson and a black bandana tied bank-robber style around its mouth and nose pursued them out the door, dragging two long axes that scraped along the floorboards and Oriental rug. It stopped in the doorframe and hurled an ax. Noah, from his sheltered view by the window, saw only the ax’s rainbow arch, and not its intended target. But he heard the sound it made upon splitting into its mark.

  “Head toward the barn, it won’t go near it!” Lyle screamed.

  Shit, he’s right.

  Noah scrambled to watch through the front door the scarecrow clutching its ax and facing down Diggs and Lyle, both of whom stood before the fully consumed barn. Sprawled in between was Red. An ax cleaved the back of his head—the handle jutting skyward. The creature lurched to the corpse, grabbed the handle and wrenched the blade free.

  The heat pushed the two men outward, closer to their pursuer, but they felt emboldened, knowing they’d found its weakness.

  “What now?” Diggs screamed over the inferno.

  “Dunno, just be ready!” Lyle still held the glowing torch and swiped it sideways. “Right now this is all that’s keeping it back!”

  The thing waited—whether it was for the barn to implode or Lyle’s torch to burn itself out, Noah didn’t know. But it seemed content to see how Diggs and Lyle would react to the mounting heat. Noah aimed his rifle—Lyle first, then Diggs, he thought. He had clear shots at each despite the creature. The two men had no idea Noah was moving the rifle to and fro, from one man’s head to the next, planning to literally execute two wicked bastards.

  Click.

  Shit!

  Click. Click. Click. Click. Click.

  He ran his fingers over his empty bandolier.

  Shouldn’t have fired when they came running down the stairs.

  Noah propped the useless rifle next to the book case and knew he had no other choice. He ran upstairs.

  “Come on, come get it!” Lyle taunted the creature, which inched forward, wanting to take the bait but understanding the peril if it did. Diggs stood behind Lyle so that a thrown ax would hopefully strike Lyle first.

  Lyle sprang forward, whipping the torch back and forth, backing up the thing. Diggs tried to be useful and found a burning plank of wood to wield. This concerned the creature—although it was patently obvious it feared Lyle and regarded the scrawny Englishman as more of a nuisance. It shrugged its shoulders, not certain of how to conclude the stare-down.

  Lyle held the torch up high, waiting to club the thing if it charged.

  Several bullets whizzed by Lyle, who froze. He counted five shots and not one of them hit. He looked to the house’s second-floor window facing the barn and saw Noah—Colt in one hand, pounding the sill with the other—venting frustration over how awful a shot he was with a revolver.

  “You suck, boy! Come down here and face me like a man!” Lyle screamed. Even the scarecrow watched the window, and Noah lining up another shot.

  “Lyle, he’s aiming at you,” Diggs hissed. “Move.”

  “I see him.” Lyle remained rigid but saw Noah was way off. “Christ, it’s like he’s not aiming at me.” He chuckled.

  Noah fired the final bullet from his Colt and hit his mark. The burning torch head exploded, leaving Lyle with a smoldering handle.

  The scarecrow sprinted forward.

  “Gimme your board!” Lyle screamed at Diggs, who fumbled and dropped the piece of burning wood before wetting himself.

  Lyle drew his LeMat and fired at the creature’s kneecaps, hoping to cripple it. The bullets slowed—but didn’t stop—its progress.

  The sound of stampeding horses joined the din of crackling wood. It came from the back cornfield and surprised everyone. Noah’s rig, still steered by Brendan, burst through the stalks near Toby Jenkins’s grave and caught the scarecrow by surprise. The horses and wagon wheels crushed the creature, eventually ripping it in half, sending straw everywhere.

  The rig continued its path of destruction up the trail toward the road, only Brendan, tilting sideways, finally succumbed to his injury and fell out of the driver’s seat, landing in a fetal position, clutching the handle of the sickle deep in his chest, covered by dirt left in the fleeing horses’ wake.

  Lyle snatched the plank of burning wood by Diggs’s feet and meticulously set ablaze the scarecrow’s remains, keeping an eye on the second floor window.

  “You empty, Chandler? Because I’m not!”

  Noah felt all the way around his gun belt and found one remaining bullet for his Colt.

  “God, help me out here.” It would be his only shot with the revolver and he walked downstairs to meet his fate.

  “Come on out, Chandler!” Lyle mocked. “I won’t shoot you like you did Ellison, like a goddamn coward! He wasn’t even looking!”

  Noah hid out of sight behind the front door.

  “I mean it, Chandler. Take a look, I’m holstered.” Lyle stood amid the burning hay with his arms outstretched to emphasize the point.

  Noah exited, also with his gun holstered.

  Diggs stood off to Lyle’s side, and when he realized the men would settle scores with a quick-draw—and just how dreadful a shot Noah was—he skulked behind the closest tree that could provide cover.

  “I’m gonna make it fair for both of us too. Give you—and me—a clear shot.” Lyle watched to make sure Noah wouldn’t cheat and kicked aside the smoldering scarecrow carcass to create a relatively clear lane for the two men.

  “I ain’t ever done this before.” Adrenaline boosted Lyle’s confidence. “And I can pretty much guaran-god-dam
n-tee you ain’t either. So, whaddya say, we’re about one-hundred feet apart. Think that’ll do?”

  Lyle stood ready before the burning barn, which collapsed inward, sending aloft immense plumes of embers and smoke. Heat licked his backside but did not stir him to move. Noah, staked before the water well and swaying cornfields, also felt the heat and couldn’t surmise how Lyle withstood it.

  “For all the marbles, Chandler. You should know: I won’t miss.”

  Noah tried thinking of something snappy to say.

  “You’re probably right,” he said evenly—but thought, Really? That’s the best you could do?

  They stood apart, waiting for the other to flinch.

  Lyle’s hand remained steady as it hovered a hair above his LeMat.

  Noah’s fingers trembled.

  They drew at once and fired.

  Lyle remained standing. Noah tumbled back against the well and held his hand to his bleeding belly.

  “You didn’t even come close, boy.” Lyle sauntered in for the kill. Diggs appeared from his hiding spot and approached the house.

  Lyle holstered his weapon and was within twenty feet of Noah, who slid himself back against the stone well, pressing the wound. Maybe the two things that are finishing off Preston will come back and catch Lyle and Diggs by surprise, Noah thought. I doubt they know there’re still two of them left. Noah took zero solace in knowing he might soon be joined in death by a twisted assassin and his paymaster.

  “Now, I’d have preferred to have finished you clean, you know, through the heart.” Lyle stood at Noah’s feet. “But I never said I was a sharpshooter—only that I wouldn’t miss.”

  Diggs rejoined Lyle but kept his distance from him, not certain what he’d do next.

  “Wait, Lyle, we still don’t know the whereabouts of Toby’s wife.”

  “Well, shit, you’re right.” Lyle beamed and turned his attention back to the scarecrow. “Couple of axes over there, Chandler. I was gonna burn it out of you before. But I think cutting’ll do the job. I can add to your gash collection.” He turned to Diggs. “Go fetch ’em for me, would you?”

  Diggs didn’t mind taking the order.

  “Here.” He timidly handed over the weapons, like he’d never held an ax in his life. “Just put him out of his misery once you’re certain he’s telling the truth.”

  “Oh, I will.” He flashed dirty teeth at Noah, who tossed aside his empty Colt.

  “Even if I knew, I’d never say.” Noah stared at Lyle, trying to suppress dread. “I’ll fight you with every bit of strength I got.”

  “I’d expect nothing less.” Lyle stooped like a sumo wrestler, gripping each ax mid-handle, preparing to swoop in and chop.

  “Lyle,” called a familiar voice.

  He stood and turned toward the sound coming from the house and saw Franklin in the archway aiming a Derringer. Lyle dropped the ax in his gun hand and drew the LeMat but not before Franklin popped a bullet into his heart. Lyle had yet to turn to aim at Franklin and still faced Noah, who watched as the momentum of Lyle’s draw brought the gun toward Noah as it rose. The LeMat slipped from Lyle’s hand and glided toward Noah.

  “Traitor!” Diggs flicked his wrist to reveal his own Derringer. Franklin pivoted and triggered his second shot at Diggs but no lead fired.

  “Empty!” Diggs cocked both his Derringer’s hammers and pointed, only his chest exploded before he could pull.

  “I’m not.” Noah steadied the LeMat as smoke swirled from its tip while the blast’s echo died in the distance. The center barrel’s 20 gauge buckshot blew Diggs off his feet. The body landed ten feet behind where he originally stood.

  Lyle staggered and dropped to his knees. He glared at Noah as his life pumped out of him. Using his waning strength he brought back the ax. Noah cocked and switched the LeMat’s hammer to fire the .44 caliber bullets but none remained.

  Neither Noah nor Franklin saw Toby Jenkins creep up behind Lyle to smash the rear of his skull with the shovel used earlier to unearth Toby’s own grave. The blow sent Lyle headfirst into the ground to die, knocking his smelly Stetson onto Noah’s lap.

  Chapter Forty-One

  “I don’t know what I’d like answered first.” Noah, still slouched against the well, labored in between breaths. “How you survived two bullets to your heart, or where the hell you been all this while?”

  “I’ve got to get you to the doctor.” Toby, dusty from head to toe, grimaced at the sight of the dark blood staining Noah’s shirt. Franklin stood on the porch, not knowing what to do.

  “Are you dead, Toby?” It was Noah, murmuring as his strength faded.

  “Noah, you need Doc Richardson.” Toby crouched and placed his hand on Noah’s shoulder. “Now.”

  “I’d rather the doc care for my wife first.” He inhaled before sighing out the last part. “To be honest with you.”

  “He already has.”

  Noah, confused, stared at Toby. “How do you know?”

  “Where do you think I was most of the time?”

  “Up until about two minutes ago? Heaven or hell. That’s why I’m asking if you’re dead. Based on the day I’ve had, it wouldn’t surprise me if the answer’s yes.”

  “I’m not dead, Noah.”

  “Then how are you alive?”

  Ten men, at least seven of them soldiers, followed by a dual horse-drawn wagon, turned left off the road onto Toby’s property.

  “Good, the doc’s here,” Toby said.

  “How did he know to come?!”

  “Calm down, Noah. Save your strength.”

  “Mister Jenkins, I saw Mister Diggs and Lyle shoot you. I buried you myself.”

  “And I’m glad it was you who buried me.” Toby smiled.

  “I don’t get it.”

  “I know.”

  Noah recognized the sheriff’s deputy leading the charge: Harrison. Noah’s gaze wandered to the rear of the procession to Doctor Richardson, sitting alongside Sarah Jenkins, who held Isaac.

  “I’ll be right back.” Toby ran, not toward the approaching wagon, but to the grave plots and returned holding a few items.

  He tossed a shovel blade onto Lyle’s Stetson, which still rested before Noah.

  “I fit that under my shirt yesterday after Sarah called for me while I was talking to you. Excused myself and went into my barn. Oh, and I layered this over it and wrapped twine around my chest to keep it all in place.”

  Toby dangled a thin slab of meat wriggling with maggots. “Sorry ’bout the smell.”

  “Is that your liver?” It was Franklin.

  Toby laughed, an unexpected loud bark. “No, my friend, it isn’t. It was a fine cut of beef, actually. I needed something to pass for a chest wound. The bullets went right through it and wedged in the shovel. If you look you can see the dents they made.”

  “How’d you breathe?” Franklin asked.

  “I dug the grave so there’d be a minimal amount of dirt covering me—enough for me to maneuver. And I kept a few of these in the hole.” Toby held up a couple of hollowed-out lengths of sugar cane.

  “You didn’t see it, but when you laid me in the grave, I felt around and grabbed one. I snuck it in my mouth when you took a break from shoveling. I almost gagged. I appreciate you burying my head last—otherwise things would’ve been more complicated. Once you were done I pushed this little guy out of my mouth so it could poke through the dirt. It wasn’t the most comfortable way to breathe, but it did the job. I snuck out of there late at night because I had to be certain there was nobody around. The place was crawling with Diggs’s men all day. They’d have seen me for sure.”

  Noah glanced at the shovel. “But what if Diggs had shot you in the head?”

  “I’d be dead.”

  “How did you know he’d aim for your chest?” Noah hesitated. Questions formed in his he
ad too fast to be asked. “Or that they were even coming at that time?”

  “I didn’t—not a hundred percent. I had a hunch. So did Sarah.”

  “I don’t—” Noah stopped when sounds of heavy splashing rose from the water well.

  “Quiet down there!” Toby shouted down the well. “Rest.”

  Toby focused on the bottom reaches of the well. “Rest now. I’ll call on you later.” The splashing ceased almost immediately.

  Noah watched Toby, whose eyes momentarily appeared vacant and white—or so Noah thought. But a double-take revealed them to be brown and wide.

  They sure looked white as snow, though, Noah thought, and then spoke. “Toby, what the hell’s down there?”

  “Not now, Noah. Not yet.”

  Things got blurrier for Noah. He felt cold.

  Noah saw visions of men hopping off horses, guns drawn, scouring the property, then Doctor Richardson jogging to his side, lowering himself while opening his medical bag, and pulling out a rag and a bottle.

  “I’ve got you, son. I’ve got you.”

  Richardson placed a damp rag over Noah’s mouth and nose and sleep came quickly.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  “I want to know one thing.” Noah spoke groggily. Like Brendan, Lyle and, unbeknownst him, his wife, he awoke on Doctor Richardson’s medical table. “Where are my wife and child?”

  Richardson had been applying fresh bandages to Noah’s stitched stomach wound and was relieved to hear his voice. “Right outside and—”

  “Honey! Oh, thank God!” Natalie Chandler, a crutch under her arm, burst into the examination room from the waiting area. She stuck out the crutch and pressed it against Richardson’s belly to move him back, and then took his place to bend over and smooch her husband.

  Noah eased his arms around Nat to hug her. She sprang up, forcing his hands to his sides, and admonished him.

  “Don’t say a thing. Diggs was behind the attack on Leroy Elkton’s place.” She glared at him wide-eyed and, out of the doctor’s view, repeatedly raised her eyebrows—hint-hint.